Page 121 of Fractured Devotion
“We’re not done, Kade. But I need sleep. And you need to figure out what happens next.”
She disappears down the hall without another word, leaving me raw, half-naked, and still hard in ways that have nothing to do with my body.
Chapter 38 – Kade - Control is a kindness
I stay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the copper scent of blood mixing with her scent on my skin.
Control is a kindness.
Tonight, she gave me none.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
I don’t move for a long time after she leaves. I just sit there, the scent of her still in my lungs, the taste of her ownership still pressed into my chest. Her mark burns faintly, more memory than pain now.
I reach up, touch the dried blood, smear it with two fingers, and bring them to my mouth.
Copper. Salt. Her.
It shouldn’t mean anything.
But it means everything.
Eventually, I rise. The apartment is quiet, thick with the weight of everything we’ve just done. My limbs feel heavier with every step, moving only because they must.
I don’t head toward the bedroom, at least not yet. Instead, I veer down the narrow hall toward the guest bathroom, the one tucked just out of sight from the living room. I don’t need to see her to know she’s still there, stretched across the bed, her limbs tangled in the sheets, unmoving but far from asleep.
I close the door behind me and let the faucet run cold.
The water stings as it hits my skin, sharp against the heat that hasn’t fully faded. I scrub methodically. The blood swirls down the drain in thin red ribbons, but the sensation stays.
Her nail against my chest, and the deliberate carve of that first letter. She wasn’t just marking me. She was signing her work.
I lean against the sink and catch my own eyes in the mirror. I don’t recognize the expression staring back.
Is this what it feels like to surrender? It’s not a weakness or a collapse.
Just the truth.
For the first time in months, no, years, I’m not pretending.
I finish cleaning, dress in silence, and slip back to the couch.
I don’t sleep. I watch the hallway instead. Every creak and every flicker of shadow makes my blood stir. But not from fear. From want. Because she could come back at any moment, and I’d let her do it all again. Or worse.
And I wouldn’t stop her.
My mind drifts to Rourke, to the assignment, and to the drive he wants.
I should care.
But my priorities have shifted.
There’s a new algorithm running beneath my skin now.
Her.
Not just the woman, not just the subject, and not even the obsession.
